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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23147350">Freedom's Eyes Are Golden</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevensilvermagpies/pseuds/sevensilvermagpies'>sevensilvermagpies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Where the Wildflowers Grow [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>But also, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Insecurities, Parent-Child Relationship, Yearning, and geralt is full of regret, and yennefer cares much more than she wants you to know about, child of surprise, ish, jaskier can be ciri's dad too, mild self-esteem issues, oh hi geralt you finally turn up, this is a part 2 please read part 1 or you'll be confused</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:28:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,495</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23147350</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevensilvermagpies/pseuds/sevensilvermagpies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt sat, immovable as stone, atop the mountain till the cold chill of dusk began to swirl and he knew Yennefer and Jaskier both to be gone. He’ll head down the mountain then east, he tells himself.<br/>A week later and a tavern keeper’s gossip about the Nilfgaard forces marching North fills him with a sense of dread that steals his thoughts during the day and dreams in the night. </p><p>Two weeks later he turns south towards Cintra.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon &amp; Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion &amp; Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Where the Wildflowers Grow [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640656</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>224</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Freedom's Eyes Are Golden</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>part two of jaskier-finds-ciri-first au, aka oh hey Geralt forgot you existed for a second there.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The salt of tears was… new. He took his comfort in the cloak of loneliness which settled itself with heavy familiarity upon his shoulders. Something inside him crowed in satisfaction at the lingering sense of <em> hurtangersad </em> left in the wake of the others’ departure, but neither his stomach nor his eyes seemed to agree. Something roiled in his very core, shame twisting in his guts, cutting sharper than any sword. He’d almost begun to believe what menfolk said about witchers and emotions. </p><p>Geralt sat, immovable as stone, atop the mountain till the cold chill of dusk began to swirl and he knew Yennefer and Jaskier both to be gone. He’ll head down the mountain, then east, he tells himself. There had been murmurs of trouble brewing in the lowlands, something which could pay well. Yes. That was a good plan. And it would be a while along that road till he found a town, the less he had to see people the better. Good. He would head east. It is an easy ride, plodding along astride Roach, yet the sense of wrongness only grows thicker around them. The silence, which he had once craved as dearly as slumber, became bitter in it’s abundance. </p><p>A week later and a tavern keeper’s gossip about the Nilfgaard forces marching North fills him with a sense of dread that steals his thoughts during the day and dreams in the night. Two weeks later he turns south towards Cintra. </p><p>The girl Calanthe presents him with is a good likeness, that he will admit. Golden hair and pale skin, but her hands are red and cracked from a childhood of scrubbing dishes, never mind her manner. No grandchild of Calanthe’s would bow so readily before a stranger, he thinks, nor accept a Witcher as their master. He says as such, snarling with the frustration of being tricked, and sees Calanthe’s face sour. Then he is in a cellar. Then the world is burning around him. Then he is crouched in the undergrowth of the forest and it is too quiet, too still, and Cintra is taken he knows, he knows. But he can’t stop staring.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Yennefer heals quickly, thank the gods, and they can leave Sodden in the capable hands of Tissaia for now. They flee north, putting as much distance between themselves and the Nilfgaard forces as possible. Jaskier finds himself for the first time thankful that Geralt had refused him a seat on Roach for all those years as Yennefer is still weak, the chaos-bond is strained from battle and they are forced to travel on foot. They’re heading vaguely for Oxenfurt, where Jaskier is pretty sure he still has university rooms they can stay in, but bandits and rumours of Nilfgaardian spies drive them from the main roads. It takes them twice as long, but they aren’t followed and they aren't recognised. Small victories that are hardly worth celebrating. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ciri awakes to the sound of hushed voices. She had fallen asleep to the soft sound of Jaskier’s voice and the quiet hum of Yenn’s magic in front of the fire, belly and heart full to bursting. She cannot hear what they are saying, but the air tastes foul. The temptation to eavesdrop is too strong for her to fight, flitting across the room like Jaskier taught her, and pressing her eye to the keyhole.</p><p>“-doesn’t need me Yenna, I've delivered her where she needs to be.” Yennefer’s hand shot out to grab at the bard’s wrist, dragging him back towards her.</p><p>“So I suppose it doesn’t matter where she wants to be hmm? Don't be a fool in this...” She shook his arm crossly, as if trying to knock sense into him. Their voices getting louder and deeper with each word, as if they had forgotten why they had left the room to argue in the first place.</p><p>“I'm being sensible Yenna.” Jaskier didn't look like himself, coiled tight and defensive. Even fighting he stood tall and relaxed, something he had promised her would come with practise. Now he cowered before Yennefer’s wrath. “I’m doing what's best.”</p><p>There was a disbelieving scoff in return. “What’s best? By all means <em> Julien </em>,” and that was new, something to be stored in the back of her mind to bug him about later, “be the sort of father that leaves his child! How dare you say-”</p><p>“I'm not her father Yennefer!” Ciri couldn’t see his face but his voice shook. It stung her to the core. On their long journey to Sodden many an innkeeper had congratulated Jaskier on her talents, and the praise had warmed her to the core. His sly jokes had reminded her of her grandfather, and his fierce protection of her grandmother, the pain of loss tempered by the love she had gained. That she had thought she had gained. It floods her heart with grief all over again, and stokes the fires of her rage.</p><p>With an almighty cry she bursts through the door. The two in the corridor jump guiltily, something like pity twisting their faces. She pulls from inside her all the strength she can find and stares at jaskier like her eyes could burn through him. “You. can’t. leave.” He sighs at her, and smiles sadly, but before he can speak she is barreling on, “you can’t, you promised to teach me more songs, and you said we do my hair again tomorrow, and, and, and you have to stay.” </p><p>“Oh my little cornflower you don't need me anymore. Look, Yen’s going to help you with your magic and that's much more fun than any song.” She shook her head violently, he didn't seem to understand. “Now we’re safe we don't have to do your hair anymore, you can let it grow out beautiful and golden again hhm, won't that be a relief.”</p><p>“But...” He was turning away from her. He was going to leave her, and Yen. Although they snapped at each other constantly even Ciri could see it was only in play, and Yen’s face was crumbling too at the sight of him retreating down the hall away from them.</p><p>“But Tata I just found you!” </p><p>Jaskier stopped dead in his tracks. He turned quietly to face her, shock stealing his quicksilver tongue. Ciri just glared at him, pulling him with little resistance by his sleeve back down the hall to their rooms. She would make him stay, she thought to herself, pushing him towards the bed in the middle of the room, even if it meant trapping him somewhere he wouldn't be able to escape from. Jaskier managed to breathe out a quiet chuckle as the stubborn princess made a pillow out of his chest.</p><p>Yennefer follows them back into the room, smug that Ciri has won their argument for her. She drifts around them, pulling the blankets up and over Ciri, her hand lingering on the child slipping fast into sleep. Time appeared to melt, flowing warm and soft over them both as the enormity of their situation clouded her vision. Somehow, without intending, she had reoriented her life around Cirilla, old future plans disrupted by the breakout of war passed over with thoughts of the child’s education. Finding her a home. Building her a life. It threatened to overcome her, the tidal wave of feeling crashing against the shores of her mind, till a strong grip startled her back into reality. Jaskier smiled up at her, almost apologetic, and tugged on her hand again, pulling her to sit on the bed next to them. Yennefer sank to the bed, feeling the weight of days of travel settle deeper into her bones. They were almost safe. Almost Home.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The inn Geralt finds himself in is not the biggest, nor the cleanest, but it has a small raised platform in the corner. The innkeeper catches him staring at it, and tells him that it is empty more often than not nowadays, bards are hard to come by in times of war. But wouldn’t you know, near two weeks ago now there was a pair, a father and his young daughter - very talented - but the songs weren’t really appropriate for a child the innkeeper reckons, and his wife was going to have a word with the bard but they disappeared all to quickly after their set. He prattles on as he pours Geralt’s ale, not seeing the witcher staring blankly at the little stage. Imagining, perhaps, a tall dark haired lute player singing. It's a swift arrow to his heart; the realisation that he had always assumed the bard would be there when that bitch destiny threw Cirilla back to him. To temper his bitterness, to teach her something of kindness, and love, that he wasn’t entirely sure either himself or Yen knew how to give. It settles in his mouth, sour and unpleasant, and ruins the perfectly fine meal. He gets no sleep that night either, the silence is too loud. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So Much Love. This was much harder to write than part 1 even though it ended up shorter, mostly because I attempted to put actual plot &amp; dialogue in there, but hey! It’s done :) </p><p>Thank you to everyone who commented on the last part both here and on tumblr, I love you all.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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